Before He Had Golden Eyes
by sarahlizzie
Summary: It’s December 1917. 16-year-old Edward Masen has no idea what’s coming up in his future: doesn’t know he will “die” in a years’ time, doesn’t know who he will meet. For the time being, he has to be what war-time America wants him to be. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

I wandered the dusty streets of Chicago, not knowing what I wanted to find. Saying that, I knew what _other people _wanted me to find. Anna – my _fiancée _(I shuddered; I hated that word, especially when it was coupled with Anna) had left earlier that day, and my parents, practically frantic for me to get married and out of their hair, had sent me to look for her. I wasn't surprised she left: she had been yelled at and insulted, and I even demanded the ring back.

I knew looking for her was a lost cause, so I simply trudged to the bar on 37th Street: the bar who thought I was old enough to buy strong liquor. Sitting at the bar, I lazily greeted the bartender, who, recognizing immediately who I was, slammed a glass of whiskey on the counter.

"Thank you, sir," I mumbled to the bartender, grasping the glass and draining it.

"Mr Masen," he said, looking suspiciously at my ragged appearance, "is there anything the matter?" I reached for a second drink that had been placed in front of me. "You don't normally drink this much, and it's only 6 o' clock."

I shut my eyes for a moment, trying to clear my head and get my thoughts straight.

"It's my parents. They're forcing me to marry a girl I can't stand." I rested my head in my hands.

"Parents?" I stared at him. This man was easily readable, and I answered his question before he asked it.

"I'm twenty-one," I insisted, "and, yes: I still live with my parents."

The man just laughed. "I'm surprised, Mr Masen. I would have thought you'd have girls falling over such a handsome young man like you."

I sighed, taking a sip of whiskey.

He was wrong. People, once they got to know me, tended to avoid me, because of my uncanny ability to anticipate what they were thinking or what they were about to say. It _would_ make a person uncomfortable, I reasoned.

"Another one?" The bartender sounded shocked when I slammed down the glass and pushed it towards him.

"No, I'm feeling better now." I put a five dollar bill on the table. "Thank you." I left the bar, and ambled along the street, watching yesterday's newspaper, now in several pieces, swirl around in front of me. I trapped a sheet with my foot, and then bent down to pick it up. The headline read:

"_LOSS OF RUSSIA? NO NEED TO WORRY: WE HAVE USA_

_KING GEORGE FEELS GRATEFUL: 'WE OWE THE AMERICANS'"_

I read the article, smiling proudly. I carried on walking, torn paper in hand, heading down the road towards the new munitions factory. I didn't notice the girl walk out of the brick arch of the factory, about my age, carrying a pile of folders. The pile reached up to her face, obscuring her vision. Neither of us were paying attention to the other and we collided, sending papers flying above our heads and to the ground.

Both of us gasped and rushed to collect the files and papers now beginning to fly away in the chill breeze. Eventually, we collected them up, and I took half of the pile for her, flashing a crooked, white smile. I never meant to be charming; I was just born with it. It was a curse, really. She smiled back, and now I got a real chance to see what she looked like. She had brown hair tied up in a bun, with strands coming out of it and falling in front of her pale face. Her eyes were big and brown, but looked stressed; her smile sincere, but nervous.

"Thank you, sir," she said, glancing at the pile I had picked up for her, "but I can take those for you." She had a sweet voice, with a slight hint of a southern accent.

"No, really," I smiled again, but then kicked myself internally; "it's not a bother." I looked down at the street for a moment, thinking. I wondered: perhaps if I brought back a different girl, my mother and father wouldn't be nearly so angry about my loss of Anna.

"May I walk you home?"

"Oh, you are too kind, sir, thank you." She smiled shyly again, her brown eyes meeting my green ones. A snowflake floated down from the rapidly darkening sky and landed in her untidy hair, followed quickly by another. Soon our heads and shoulders were frosted with tiny ice crystals, and the road in front of us carpeted with snow.

"Where do you live, if you don't mind me asking?" I said as we walked along the white-blanketed street.

"I don't mind," she replied, glancing at me. "It's a perfectly valid question, seeing as you are walking me home." She gave a tinkling laugh. "It's just a few blocks north from here."

We walked in silence for a moment, watching the snow swirl around.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Helen Trusscott." She gave her best attempt of a curtsey, being hindered by the folders.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Trusscott." I paused. "I'm sorry, are you a 'Miss'?"

"Yes," she said, a hint of regret in her voice. She paused, gazing sadly at the ground, before continuing. "_Et tu?_ What is your name?"

"Edward Masen, _mademoiselle,_" I replied, awkwardly lifting my cap off and bowing.

"_Enchanté_," she said, smiling again. "Do you know much French?"

"Not a lot. I'd love to learn, though. It's a beautiful language. Yourself?"

"Half the people in Baton Rouge speak it," - she was homesick, I could tell - "so it's good to know."

Even though I already knew the answer, I asked her, "Is that where you grew up? Baton Rouge?"

"Yes." She gazed sadly ahead.

"Why did you leave?" I asked softly, trying not to sound nosy.

She paused, her brown eyes unhappy.

"There was trouble." Her face was suddenly serious. "There were…" she struggled to say it, "…killings in the big cities. Serial murders. My father…died…when the murderers came to Baton Rouge. My mother and I moved after that, because we were afraid." A tear leaked out of her eye.

"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," she wiped her cheek, "I shouldn't be opening up so much to someone I just met."

She'd already told me much more than she thought she had. I didn't admit this to her, though: I didn't want to scare her off.

"There's no need to apologise." I gave a small smile. She smiled back gratefully.

We walked in silence for a moment, her eyes still sad. We turned a corner, and she told me that it was her street. The bottom of her off-white linen dress was now soaking with snow, her hair damp from the flakes. Stopping at the third house down, she curtseyed awkwardly again, and then walked up to the steps leading up to the door. I offered to take her pile for her while she unlocked the door, and she gave her half of the pile to me, flashing a flushed but grateful smile. Once all the folders were safely inside, she came back out onto the step.

"When do you go to work tomorrow morning? Maybe I can walk you there…?" She blushed, her cheeks going pink, and hot blood pulsing to the surface of her skin.

"Well, I leave at seven-thirty…" she trailed off, glancing at me through her long lashes. I smiled again, running my fingers through my auburn hair. I reached out to gently grasp her hand, and then kiss the back of it, not breaking my gaze from her eyes. Her porcelain skin was like silk under my lips, and shivers went down my spine, like electric shocks.

"I'll be there."

"Edward Anthony Masen! What time do you call this?" my mother yelled as I came in the house. I sighed, not taking a lot of notice. "And where is Anna? Didn't I tell you to go find her?"

"Mother," I said calmly, walking past her, "I've forgotten about Anna." I paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking dreamily into space. "I have a Helen."

Silence filled the front room for a moment.

"Edward," my father put a hand on my shoulder, "she isn't a…" he struggled to say it, "…a prostitute, is she?"

"No, father," I rolled my eyes, "she isn't." I turned to go upstairs. "She's just a girl I met."

"That's not entirely the point, son. Anna's father was an important business client of mine…" I wasn't listening. I just drifted up the stairs, knowing that my parents would be glaring disapprovingly at my retreating figure.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Sorry, there are in fact two parts to this chapter, the bit with Edward and Helen and the bit with Elizabeth and Carlisle, but the website wouldn't let me put stars or anything to make it look like a separate part. Sorry! x

We walked along the street on the bright May morning, my left arm carrying a wicker picnic basket, my right arm intertwined with Helen's. She had changed out of her work clothes for today, and the ends of her long dress skimmed the pavement. We were heading towards the park, going for a picnic, now that the weather had cleared up. The sun felt good on my face, and I soaked it up, tilting my head back to pick up the rays, and closing my eyes to see a red glow on the inside of my eyelids. I glanced at Helen to see that she was doing the same thing, her ivory skin practically shimmering in the brilliant sunlight.

The park loomed up on us, crowded with people. We picked through the masses, trying to find a place to sit in relative privacy, and we settled on a spot in semi-shade, near a cluster of trees. Sitting down, we started our lesson.

"Alright, let's start with something easy. Repeat after me: _Bonjour. Je m'appelle__ Edward._" Her French accent was flawless, as well as being soft and lilting; almost hypnotic.

I did as she asked, but then quizzed her, "What does that mean?"

"Just 'Hello, my name is Edward.' I'm not starting with anything too complicated," she chuckled, taking a bite of a cracker.

"Now: age. _Quel__ age__ as-__tu?_ How old are you? You say…_J'ai seize ans_. Is that alright?" She glanced at me. "Am I moving to quickly for you?"

"No, no. It's fine." I composed myself to say: "_J'ai seize ans_." I peeked at my teacher, asking her in a look if that was correct.

She nodded and smiled.

This routine went on until the sun was directly overhead, and both Helen and I were parched. I rose to buy lemonades from the stall in the park, and placing thirty cents on the counter and asking for two. The man scowled at the money on the counter, then at me, before saying:

"Sorry, sir," he said, shaking his head grimly. "Since the war started, I've had to raise my prices. If you want two lemonades, it'll cost you seventy cents, I'm sorry."

I frowned. I didn't have another forty cents.

"I'll just have the one, then," I grumbled, angrily fishing a nickel from my pocket and putting it on the counter. As he poured a cold glass of lemonade, I noticed a newspaper on the counter. The headline read:

"PRESEDENT IGNORES PANDEMIC

KANSAS 'FLU DEATHS DON'T AFFECT ADDRESS"

"Pandemic?" I whispered to no-one in particular. The man noticed, and said:

"I know, it's terrible, isn't it?" He slid the glass of lemonade across the counter. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, though."

I turned away, taking the glass and not saying anything.

I walked, unseeing, back to the blanket on which Helen and I had been sitting. She was smiling, but her expression changed to confusion – with a hint of sadness – when she saw my blank look.

"Edward," she peered at me as I sat down and handed her the lemonade, "Is everything alright? And…" she said when she saw I only had one glass, "…why didn't you get one for yourself?"

Her voice brought me out of my trance, and I told her:

"The prices have gone up: I only had enough for one, and…" I paused, "…there's a new 'flu going around. They're calling it a pandemic, and there have been a lot of deaths in Kansas." I gazed into her light hazel eyes, "I'm worried."

She sighed and grasped my hand, bringing it up to my face and stroking my cheek. "Don't worry." She took the hand from my face and kissed the back of it. "I'll make sure you won't die." Still holding my hand, she came close to me, and pressed her rose-petal lips on mine. I was practically paralyzed and my heart skipped a beat, but when sparks flew, it raced, nearly jumping up my throat with excitement. I was so disappointed when she left, but she put her hand up again and stroked my brow.

"I promise, I won't let you die."

* * *

I stumbled into the hospital, half blind. I wandered carefully to the reception desk, clutching my bleeding nose. Grasping the edge of the counter, I told the receptionist that I thought I had broken it.

"Can I ask your name, ma'am?"

"Elizabeth Masen," I replied.

"Alright. If you would like to sit down…" I wasn't listening. I turned and walked clumsily to the straight-backed wooden seats lined up at the back of the room.

A few minutes later, an impossibly beautiful man walked in. He looked as if he was only twenty or so, but he was wearing a doctor's white coat. He had thick, golden hair and a pale face, with dark topaz eyes and an enchanting, brilliantly white smile. I found myself gawking at him, and felt my pulse rise to an alarming rate.

He quickly scanned the room before calling:

"Elizabeth Masen?" I was shocked to hear him say my name. I stood up far too quickly, sending me into a dizzy spell, and causing blood to spill onto the front of my dress. I almost collapsed, but instead of falling on the floor like I should have done, I was caught by a pair of marble arms, and they were hard, but surprisingly gentle. I found myself staring into the flawless face of the doctor, but his expression seemed slightly pained, his brow furrowed. I suddenly realised that he had been standing on the completely opposite end of the room a split second ago. Without thinking, I asked him,

"How did you get here so quickly?"

He didn't reply: he just propped me back on my feet, an unnaturally cold hand still steadying my back.

"So what seems to be the problem, Mrs Masen?" He looked slightly uncomfortable at the sight of so much blood. I told him as he guided me into the tiny examining room.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot to introduce myself," he said as I sat down on a cushioned chair, and he held out his hand for me to shake, "I'm Dr Carlisle Cullen." I waved around blindly with my hand to search for his, but he put me out of my misery by just grasping it himself. I was still unnerved about how icy cold and hard his hand was.

"Let's get that fixed up for you, shall we?" His voice was hypnotic and mystifying, and had a hint of a British accent. Soon, he was mending my nose with extreme nimbleness and delicacy; almost as though he was afraid he would hurt me if he wasn't careful.

Within a few minutes, I was walking out of the hospital, my heart still fluttering.

That night I dreamed of Dr Carlisle Cullen, and his perfect, porcelain skin.


	3. Chapter 3

I usually had a few spare moments from my schedule to scan the day's headlines, but today, there was no need to: the air was b

I usually had a few spare moments from my schedule to scan the day's headlines, but today, there was no need to: the air was buzzing with the excitement of the possible armistice.

Walking along the street, I heard whispers, and I thought up possible conversations in my over-active brain. I ignored the hum of voices and carried on strolling along the street with attempted casualness, but I failed miserably. Seemingly from nowhere, a cold hand touched mine, and I jumped, shocked at myself for not seeing it coming. Helen stood behind me, her expression shocked. She greeted me, and then stood up on tiptoe to peck my cheek. Her lips were icy from the November weather, and I offered to take her back to my house. When she agreed, I grasped her hand, and she weaved her thin fingers in between mine. We ambled, shivering, back towards my house, but we were halted by a large crowd, cheering and waving miniature American flags.

"Oh, no. Here, I know a shortcut." I began to pull her off to a side street, but she resisted.

"Wait," she pulled me back towards her, "I want to go see." She dragged me deliberately towards the crowd, and I followed reluctantly.

The crowd swarmed in the square, cheering louder than ever and deafening me. Helen skipped towards them joyfully, still dragging me behind her.

"What's going on?" she quizzed a man standing near us.

"Hey, little lady," he said, turning around, "haven't you heard?"

She shook her head, still smiling.

"The war's over," he grinned widely. "They signed the armistice!"

My face brightened at these words, and, without knowing it, I was soon smiling as widely as Helen. We tried to look over the heads of the crowd by standing on tiptoe, and we saw an uncountable amount of red, white and blue flags flurrying over the heads of thousands of cheering people. The sight was magical, and it burned into my brain, to stay with me until I died. Helen hugged me round my waist, no longer shivering, and I put my arm around her and let her nuzzle into my chest. After a moment, she looked up at me, gazing into my emerald eyes, and, cupping her hand on my cheek, put her soft lips on mine. I didn't notice the cold anymore: I was too busy living in the moment. When she pulled away, she smiled again.

In that magical moment, I knew that this was the right time. I had been toying with the idea of proposing for several weeks, but each time I would bring myself to do it, I put it off, feeling that the time wasn't quite right.

I knew this was the moment I was waiting for.

I took her hand and looked her in the eye again.

"Helen, I don't know if I've had the chance to say this lately, but I love you." She looked at me, wide-eyed, but I bent down to put one knee on the frozen ground regardless. Helen gasped and put her free hand to her mouth. Nobody turned around to look at us – we were in our own little world.

"I love you, Helen Trusscott," I kissed her hand, "and I want to spend eternity with you." A tear slipped out of her eye. "Will you be my wife?"

She nodded silently, trying to hold back tears. I stood up, and she flung her arms round my neck, and we kissed again. Neither of us wanted that moment to end; it was too special for us to let it finish.

When we pulled away again, I still held her, and she hugged me again, warm tears staining my shirt. I saw a sheet of newspaper flitting around in the wind, and I stood up tall to reach it, grabbing it and trying not to let it crumple in my hands. I pulled it back down to eye level to read it:

"WAR OVER:

WAR TO END ALL WAR'S ARMISTICE SIGNED"

I smiled as I read it, and then folded it up into a tiny piece of paper, so I could keep it for the rest of my life. I laced my fingers in between hers and pressed my palms on her cold ones, squeezing the newspaper and flattening it. We kissed again, her silky lips grazing the line of my jaw before they touched my lips, and behind us, hundreds of hats flew up into the air and a cheer erupted into the cold sky.


	4. Chapter 4

I knew I must have been close to death; I just wished for it to be over, for the pain to stop

I knew I must have been close to death; I just wished for it to be over, for the pain to stop. My breath came in gasps, and it was a struggle just to fill my lungs. The man I knew as Dr Cullen often stood over me, his pale face serious and worried, as did my mother. As the painful hours wore on, the light in the hospital became dimmer, and I was unsure as to whether it was the sun setting or simply my life draining away. I was vaguely aware of the bed on my left being emptied, but I was in too much agony to shed a tear for my father's death. Soon my mother's exhausted face ceased to appear over my bed, and I heard her whisper a conversation with the doctor, just minutes before he called the time of death, and her broken and limp body was wheeled away from my sight.

Now I was all alone.

Dr Cullen's comforting and angelic face hovered over my bed once more, but then I felt like I was being lifted. Was this me dying? Maybe the doctor really _was_ an angel. Now though, all I had to concentrate on was the gray sheet that had been pulled over my head. My thoughts drifted as I slipped in and out of consciousness.

Just when I was prepared for it to end, there was a sharp pain in my wrist, and before I knew it, searing pain was ripping through my body, burning every inch of my skin. Was I in hell? Was this what I had to endure for the rest of my existence? Couldn't God have it in his endless mercies to simply spare those who were dying, rather than having them endure such horrific pain? Would it ever end?

Fire engulfed me: I just prayed for it to be over.

I didn't know how long it took: days and hours all moulded into a misty blur of pain and fire swallowing my entire body. All I knew was when I woke up, my heart had ceased to beat, my breathing was effortless and, I soon realised, not necessary. I heard a drone of voices in my head, a never-ending hum of words and wonderings. I sat up, looking around, and found myself in an unfamiliar room, and staring into the beautiful face of my captor.

I glared at Dr Cullen standing in front of me, and I clutched my temples, trying to drown the river of voices pounding in my head.

"What have you _done _to me?"

The doctor said nothing, but simply came towards me cautiously, reaching to place a hand on my shoulder. I snarled at him, baring my teeth and backing away, but he seemed unfazed, if a little shocked.

He opened his mouth to say the answer, but I could hear it before he uttered a sound.

_I saved you._

"You didn't save me!" I snapped. I took my hands away from my head to look at them, and saw that they were chalky and unnaturally white. "What _am _I?" I wondered out loud.

"Now, I need to explain this…" he said in his oddly silky voice, trying to let me down easily. But I knew exactly what he was thinking.

_Vampire._

I let my pallid hands fall limply to my side.

"A _vampire_?"

Dr Cullen paused, mouth still open, but then slowly nodded.

I fell onto my knees and ran my hands through my bronze hair. That would explain the supernatural powers and inhumanly pale skin. But…a _vampire_? Surely those were just myths and stories from my childhood?

"Edward," Dr Cullen was by my side in an instant, hand on my shoulder, and I stared at him, still sceptical, "Can you read my mind?"

I nodded my head, my eyes slightly too falsely innocent. "I think I can hear everybody's."

He gazed off seemingly into nowhere. "Odd," he said simply. He stared upwards for a split second, but then looked back down at me. "You're thirsty." It was a statement, not a question.

So that was what I was feeling.

I was craving something, and I couldn't pinpoint the feeling until just a second ago. The one thing I wanted, the only thing I desired at the moment was blood.

Sweet blood.

I imagined it, flowing down the sides of my cheeks, filling my parched mouth.

"Stay here, Edward. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

"Thank you, Dr Cullen," I said pathetically.

"Please," he smiled, flashing brilliantly white teeth, "call me Carlisle." He looked into my eyes for a moment, the disappeared out the wooden door, leaving it swinging behind him.

"Thank you, Carlisle."

I took the opportunity to look around the room I was in. It was dark, with mahogany panels on the walls and framed paintings and a few photographs dotted around. It almost felt like I had been transported back about two hundred years.

I stood up, looking with fascination at the pictures on the wall; they seemed to tell someone's life story. I vaguely recognized the blond vampire whose kind face had dominated these past few days. I spun round, still gazing at the pictures, but then caught sight of a terrifying painting across the room. It was huge, and was surrounded by a giant golden frame. The person – should I say person? – was incredibly frightening, with a look of terror on his face and blood red eyes piercing through me. I jumped back in fright, only to see the picture jump back in its frame, matching my movements.

It was me.

I was the monster.

I put my hands to my head, watching the monster in the mirror do the same. The pale demon's hands covered his eyes so he could barely see past them. He wanted so hard to break down and cry, to have it all end, to have the power to leave this horrible body behind.

But he couldn't.

All he could do was sit, and wait for the tiny bit of salvation in his horrifying existence.

Blood.

I stood by the door of Carlisle's house, watching the people stroll past, not knowing how close they could be to dying that second.

The smell was incredibly tempting, but it was so strong that it burned my nose, my throat, the inside of my lungs. When I saw a human, I didn't care that they had thoughts, memories, a family or a life: all I cared was that they would quench my unbearable thirst. I could tell how easy it would be to simply plunge my teeth into their soft, delicious necks and feel my mouth fill with the luscious nectar.

Over the weeks, this routine would continue. Carlisle would remind me that killing humans was immoral: he would remind me how it felt to be one of them. But I didn't remember, I had no memories of what it felt like to be alive, to have a soul; it was all a misty blur, like a dream you can't quite remember when you woke up in the morning. My memory since I had changed, though, was crystal clear, and I remembered with perfect clarity each horrible, painful detail. Every so often, though, something someone said would refresh my memory, a tiny glint of actual life that I had strived to find amidst the huge amounts of impurities. All I wanted was those tiny pieces of gold.


	5. Chapter 5

I watched Edward and his newborn saunter through the forest, invisible in the undergrowth. I crouched down lower, trying hard not to make a sound. I had stopped breathing a while ago: Edward and his little friend were only a couple of feet away, after all. After they had finally walked past my hiding place, I crept silently and invisibly from behind the shrubbery, following them at what I thought was a safe distance. Quicker than you could blink an eye, though, he span round and began to come towards me, lips pulled back over his fantastically white teeth. Suddenly, though, his expression softened, but his eyes were still wide.

"Helen?" He looked puzzled, trying hard to recall memories from a past life.

"You can see me?" I was confused too.

"Why wouldn't I be able to?" His golden eyes were quizzical, and the girl next to him was staring towards me, several feet from where I was actually stood, trying desperately to find the person speaking.

"I brought it with me," I said lamely, not being able to think up a better explanation, but he seemed to immediately understand. "Don't you remember how I always seemed to take you by surprise?"

He stepped forward, right in front of me in a second. "I thought I heard someone I recognized." He embraced me, and I was shocked by the hardness of his arms: all I had remembered from his caress was warmth and softness. I assumed it was safe now to reappear and show myself to the girl, even though clearly, Edward could already see me.

When I showed myself, I stared at her over his shoulder, and I watched her bright red eyes burn with envy.

"Edward…" she was by his side in an instant, "…who's this?" she asked in a seemingly nonchalant sing-song voice.

For what must have been the first time in, oh, a century, he looked uncomfortable, suddenly the weakest of the three of us.

"Bella," he said slowly and patronizingly, as if trying to calm a bratty child, "…this is Helen."

"Yes, but who _is _she?"

"I could ask the same thing," I snarled. I paused to think, and then said slyly: "I'm his fiancée."

Edward's eyes widened in realization and terror.

"And can I ask who _you_ are?"

"I'm. His. Wife." She said scathingly, her scarlet eyes wilder than ever.

I barked a laugh. "I never knew you were a fan of polygamy, Edward."

"Honestly, Helen. I never remembered. I'm sorry."

"Let me refresh your memory, then." I reached into a pocket, pulling out a piece of dirty dog-eared newspaper. It was folded into a tiny square, and flattened. I carefully unravelled its yellow pages and showed Edward the headline:

"WAR OVER:

WAR TO END ALL WARS' ARMISTICE SIGNED"

"We found it in your house when we were sorting through your stuff."

Edward's golden eyes seemed to remember. They seemed as though the memories had all come flooding back.

"So, how did this all happen? Why are you…like this?" Edward said, clearly referring to my hard, cold body and apparent immortality.

I sighed. "When I found out you had died, I was distraught, as you could imagine. I was plunged into depression, and, to make a long story short, tried to kill myself. I just wanted to wait for the freezing river to finish me off, but some blithering idiot tried to save me. But, I soon found out, he wasn't trying to save me at all, and he was in fact," I paused, gesturing towards my soulless body, "…turning me into this."

"Did…" he gulped, "did Carlisle change you?"

"No, I know it wasn't him. He would've told you, anyway."

"I wonder why he never told me there was another vampire in Chicago."

The girl called Bella had been listening with glaring intent to our whole conversation, not moving an inch from Edward's side.

"How did you find me?"

I shrugged. "Fate, I guess."

I stepped forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling him slightly away from the possessive grasp of the girl. I reached up to stroke his face, but he cringed slightly at my touch. I stood up on tiptoe to press my lips gently against his, but he pulled back, pushing me away.

"Ok, Helen. Too far," he said simply. "I have Bella now."

"You had me first." I paused, then said quietly, "You said forever."

"I was younger then."

I laughed scornfully. "Who are you trying to kid, Edward? You and I both know you haven't aged one bit."

"I've grown," he growled, baring his teeth again. I looked over his shoulder to see the newborn looking twice as livid as him, tensed as if ready to strike. Edward must have seen me looking at her or something, because he peered back at her, then sped to her side, putting his hands gently on her shoulders, trying, it seemed, to calm her.

"Hold on to your precious Bella, Edward," I snarled, watching the girl's furious red eyes glare at me with hatred. I laughed to myself, though, because I knew she would be no match for me, with my nimble feet, superior skill and power to fade into nothingness. She growled, trying to lunge towards me, and instinctively, I disappeared to dodge her attack, but she was still held fast by her husband.

"Look, love," he said in a silky voice – the voice I had missed so much over the years – "…you know there's nothing to worry about."

She seemed significantly calmer now. "But I thought you said I was the only one."

"You are."

He gently grazed her neck with the tips of his fingers, then kissed her jaw. I didn't see anything else, because I turned away, silently walking away from the couple. I didn't see Edward turn around to face me.

"Helen, you don't have to go," he said hurriedly.

"No, no. I think I should leave." I sprinted away before he could think about following me.

After running for a few miles, I stopped, and slumped against a tree, my chest shaking with dry sobs.


End file.
